another round

366 days until we’re on the same date again. scores of people see this stretch differently. for one collective, it’s a fresh opportunity to hone in exercise habits. for their distant cousins, a chance to refine a diet in disarray. others might pick up a challenge to learn an unattempted skill, ward off an addiction, be selfless, volunteer frequently, renew rusty lines of family communication, or tidy up organizational priorities. feel free to mentally add any resolution i skipped over.

for me, it’s an overwhelming surge of various emotions. the optimism in me is ambitiously planning music releases while the part of me revealed in those songs is ambivalently dreading the slew of sunsets. to scheme navigation for one date on the calendar is already an anxious burden. to glimpse ahead and be overrun by an amassing of dark nights is a higher pay grade.

decisions have to be made that, comparatively, seem crowding when pitted against our usual suspects. starting with our mornings, we’re confronted with an onslaught of information filtered and delegated to research-filled memory slots for quick, unholstered purges to help choose our path. alternate realities flake off like dandruff as we continue on a journey intricate enough to write hundreds of books. that’s the bar set for us all.

then our unique circumstances are whipped on top, despite their heavier weight inevitably crushing the previous layer. these horde energy and resources. it could be a physical ailment, like a tweaked knee or aching back, or, in my case, mental.

if only a chart existed to translate somatic expressions to their roots. then i could study behaviors and calculate formulaic answers to complicated dilemmas.

i digress. the conscious, blown-out fuses no doubt slow down the spirited CPU. its paths on the motherboard corrode with an unknown origin of the damage. nevertheless, rationality takes a hit. the usual reasoning is handicapped to extremes.

instead of “what’s for breakfast today?”, it’s “how do i rise from these sheets?”, which is obviously an amped alternative of the former. let’s prolong this dialectic comparison. instead of “what should we do tonight?”, it’s “how do i fend off compulsions to binge-eat?”. then, instead of “i think i’m tired and should go to bed”, it’s “if i don’t continuously engage pleasure centers with sugar, then what happens when i lie down, faced with an existential argument around general stores of hope inches away from a fatal windpipe crack?”

oh, what a pity party. my intention isn’t to rob your empathetic soup kitchens. i have no idea what my purpose is. i write these posts and feel slightly less deathly afterwards. but i definitely know it’s not to have you feel sorry for me or anyone similar. i don’t want the attention.

to summon the tactics of a previous therapist, it’s probably the deconstruction of an almighty network of depression that motivates me to practice keyboard maneuvers. i sense a power shift within me when i slice and dice the ominous shadows with a blade forged from literary formations of characters and stringed-out sentences.

i digress again. returning to focus, this year is just another round of toned-down psychosis. another stretch of negative self-judgements and irrational conclusions. another war churning vast amounts of resources for one life. another set of demands too unrealistic to expect yet too ingrained to erase. another deployment of randomized thought paralysis ingested from a poisoned well.

is progress subjective? who can i trust to give me the facts of my situation? does anyone authentically have an understanding on what it’s like, what to expect, and how to survive it?

i guess goals took a year off and questions rose to the spotlight.

happy new year.

– D K T


life ends. why pretend

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